The wake of devastation
by IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: No one expected that it would happen, even if they all have been knowing it would eventually come. But as the wake of devastation hit Britain in 1939, Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade found themselves in the middle of war… xXx WW2-AU, Mystrade, mention of Johnlock xXx
1. The edge of the unknown

Who would have ever thought that a day like this could turn into something so horrible and big that it would forever be remembered as the beginning? At the time, none of the people in London would have been able to explain how it happened. And yet, when Gregory looked back and thought about it in the way Mycroft would, he saw the signs and blamed himself for not having seen it earlier.

A sunny day like any other, a sunny and sultry morning. Sunday. As good as no clouds covered the blue sky, people walking around without their coats and brollies. It was no surprise that everyone saw the strange pair walking down the street, careful not to be too close, but even a fool would have been able to see what the truth behind their 'flatmate' cover was. Gregory's fingers were twitching to grasp Mycroft's hand, but they both knew it was impossible and therefore he didn't. He didn't lean in to kiss Mycroft's cheek, didn't reach out to stroke his hair and to comb it with his fingers until it would be curly and wild again.

Both knew what they felt would be considered wrong, but here they were, walking around like best friends, even if in truth they did not only share a flat but also a bed.

People had better things to think about than the two men. Where ever they passed a café or a bigger group of citizens surrounding a kiosk, all Gregory could hear was one single subject.

Would war come to Britain?

And while Mycroft assured him that he would be informed the moment it happened, even before it would be announced and before everyone else would have a real reason to be worried, Gregory knew what could happen should this threat become real. He was a police officer, not a soldier, knew how to use a gun but not how to best hide in a trench or how to know who was enemy and who was civilian.

He didn't worry about himself, he would find a way to survive all this. But Mycroft, his Mycroft, was no man of war. He never held a gun in his hand, never had to directly kill someone with the knowledge that this man had children and a woman waiting for him at home. Mycroft was a thinker, a Holmes and his position could save him from many things, but Lestrade feared that even his influence would not save him from the national service.

Mycroft left him a few minutes later to go into his office and Gregory made his way back home. It was a simple little flat somewhere close to the centre of London, almost too tiny to be shared by two men, but they wouldn't complain. Mycroft could have bought a bigger house, even an estate. But that would have drawn attention to them, attention that Gregory wasn't willing to let happen.

They needed to stay as hidden as possible, even though they were both very well known people in London. Gregory was recognised as a DI and while no one knew the title of Mycroft's position, they knew he was a politician and therefore dangerous. Gregory wanted nothing more than to stand on a car or roof to scream out that he was together with Mycroft Holmes, that they were a couple and that they kissed, had sex and that he didn't give a fuck about the opinions of others.

But Mycroft did, have to. So Greg would silently accept that Mycroft wore a wedding band to give the impression of being a married man, that he sometimes stood close to his assistant just to make people think they were married. Even if it hurt and even if Gregory got jealous despise the soothing words his partner would say to him once they were alone in their flat, the curtains covering the windows and almost every light turned off, he accepted that he would never be able to call Mycroft his and his only.

Gregory settled himself on the small couch they owned, a bottle of Mycroft's scotch in his hand and a file he had to read in the other. Work was hard in the last few days. People came to him worrying about their life, worrying about their loved ones who were out of the county. Gregory was worried on his own, but pushed those feelings away in order to do his job. He helped people find their family in demonstrations people did on the street; cuffed murderers, thieves and rapists.

He hated it. He hated every second he had to spend out there with the knowledge that nasty things could happen. Everyone was worried, civilians leaving the city even if their Prime Minister Chamberlain assured them that Britain was safe, that they had nothing to fear. They stored food and clothes in preparation for a war and attack. The two men had turned the only spare-room they had into a larder just in case.

And while everyone was close to panic, Mycroft was the calmest person Gregory had ever seen.

When the DI would sit on the couch and listen to the news in the radio, trying not to think about the possibility of a war, Mycroft would come to him, take him in his arms and assure his lover that nothing would happen to them. When Gregory would come home from work to see the politician sitting there, looking tired and exhausted with his empty hands clutched around nothing like he was holding a pen, Mycroft would smile at him and push every fear away to take Gregory in his arms again.

It was clear something was bothering him. Mycroft never told Gregory about his work, only that he had meetings but not what they were about. It was… frustrating. Gregory told his lover everything, all the cases and how he had to shoot someone to save the victim. He knew that Mycroft's work was more important and that the things the politicians talked about had to stay confident, but was it too much asked to at least know something? How was he supposed to help his boyfriend without knowing what it all was about?

All he could do was watch as the work slowly made Mycroft sleepless, he couldn't do anything when the younger man stood up in the night to sit at his desk and quietly talk to his assistant on the phone. The threat of war, the problems all around Europe, they rendered him tired, exhausted, stressed and put a huge weight on Mycroft's shoulders.

Gregory drank a sip of the scotch, grimacing as the alcohol burnt down his throat, the familiar feeling of warmth spreading through him as he drank another and another, quickly losing count. He wouldn't get drunk, he was unbearable in that condition and Mycroft needed someone to cling onto, not a drunk man to calm down.

He placed the half-empty bottle on the table and leant back, sighing. Even though Mycroft and he had the intention to stop smoking, he still stood up to get the lighter and a cigarette. They were expensive, but Mycroft had enough money to pay their unhealthy and deadly addiction. Many people were buying cigarettes and alcohol to forget their worries, to have an evening without silence cutting into their souls like knives.

Everyone was waiting for the sound of bombs being dropped on London.

The door opened and Gregory was able to hear the tapping sound Mycroft's brolly made. His lover must be tired, perhaps even annoyed. Gregory certainly had no idea how he must have felt with Hitler having unleashed the Blitzkrieg by letting his forces swarm across the Polish border. The DI had no idea how far Mycroft had been involved in the events, but he knew that everything would change.

It would be foolish to believe that Britain had nothing to fear. Only an idiot would say no one would dare to attack Britain, that no one would try to invade it. They had seen what Hitler was capable of and they all knew that war never ended without victims on all sides. But everyone closed their eyes to ignore the looming troubles. Everyone proceeded living their normal lives, criminals and ordinary citizens alike.

Mycroft sat down next to him, leaning down to let his headrest on Gregory's in a tired gesture of defeat. Gregory pursed his lips, the questions he wanted to ask lingering on his tongue and in his mind. And yet, he didn't, just wrapped his arm around Mycroft's shoulder, keeping the taller man close as he let out a long and desperate sigh.

"Turn the radio on, love," Mycroft whispered and buried his face in Gregory's neck, inhaling air deeply and more quickly than normal. "Turn it on. Now."

It was 11:15 when it began. The regular radio broadcasts were interrupted, the voice of their Prime Minister began speaking. It hadn't even begun, but the horror made Gregory freeze and tense at the same time, Goosebumps spread out over his body. He could feel that Mycroft was starting to shake and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

"_I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us."_

Gregory could practically hear the gasps and see the eyes going wide of those who were listening. He could feel the fear rushing through them, their heartbeats getting faster. He clung onto Mycroft, knowing what would come. Not wanting to believe it, but he knew that Mycroft wouldn't be shaking like this if it was nothing but a fake or sick joke.

"_I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany. You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that my entire struggle to win peace has failed."_

He lowered his head, nuzzling Mycroft's neck as the words were spoken. All the stress from the days before were finally getting the better of him, a headache beginning to hurt behind his eyes, tears rushing into them as the thought hit him, the realisation that it would begin.

"_Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more or anything different that we could have done that would have been more successful. Up to the very last it would have been quite possible to have arranged a peaceful and honourable settlement between Germany and Poland."_

Mycroft snorted. It had been a quiet, almost not audible sound, but Gregory had noticed it. Who had written those lines for the Prime Minister? How long had Mycroft known it and had to keep it a secret from everyone, even from the only person he trusted? Was this the reason he had forced his brother to move to the US with his flatmate, Doctor Watson, and not the fact that they apparently were more open to homosexuals?

What had he had to suffer through?

"_But Hitler would not have it. He had evidently made up his mind to attack Poland whatever happened; and although he now says he put forward reasonable proposals, which were rejected by the Poles, that is not a true statement. The proposals were never shown to the Poles nor to us; and though they were announced in the German broadcast on Thursday night, Hitler did not wait to hear comments on them, but ordered his troops to cross the Polish frontier the next morning. His action convincingly demonstrates that there is no chance of expecting that this man will ever give up his practice of using force to achieve his goals. He can only be stopped by force and we and France are today, in fulfilment of our obligations, going to the aid of Poland, who is so bravely resisting this wicked and unprovoked attack upon her people."_

"We're at war, aren't we, My? We are at war."

Mycroft looked up to meet Gregory's eyes, his own shining with something close to fear and forced calmness. He only nodded once, turning his head to look at the radio as the Prime Minister made a pause. Gregory knew everyone was waiting. Children were asking their parents what this was about, the women burying their faces into their husbands' shoulders as they waited. People stopping their work, all stunned in a deadly silence.

Everything was quiet, awaiting the next words. All cars outside had stopped, the engines turned off. The sun shone down on them as if to lighten their mood up, yet everyone knew it would not happen.  
_  
"We have a clear conscience. We have done all that any country could do to establish peace, but a situation in which the word of Germany's ruler cannot be trusted and no people or country can feel safe had become intolerable. And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage."  
_

"What will happen?"

"They will prepare London and Britain for a war. Knowing that the civilians will panic, that they will buy and try to save as much food and vital objects. And they will fight, even if it will cost hundreds of lives."

Gregory could only hold Mycroft close. His hand caressed his lover's hair, playing with the soft curls, which had been forced down in the morning. He looked at the clock. How everything could change within a few minutes with only a few words. How a perfect day could be destroyed like this.

_"At such a moment as this the assurances of support that we have received from the Empire are a source of profound encouragement to us. When I have finished speaking certain detailed announcements will be made on behalf of the Government. Give them your close attention. The Government has made plans under which it will be possible to carry on the work of the nation in the days of stress and strain that may be ahead. But these plans need your help. You may be taking part in the Fighting Services or as a Volunteer in one of the branches of Civil Defence. If so, you will report for duty in accordance with the instructions you receive. You may be engaged in work essential to the war effort or to the maintenance of life of the people—in factories, in transport, in public utility concerns or in the supply of other necessities of life. If so, it is of vital importance that you should carry on with your jobs."_

Gregory closed his eyes as he felt tears running over his cheek. Mycroft just lay in his arms, his body still and having stopped shaking. Deadly silence. Nothing. No cries, no screams, no sobbing. It was like the whole world had stopped to listen to those words.

"Now may God bless you all and may He defend the right. For it is evil things that we shall be fighting against, brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution. And against them I am certain that the right will prevail."

* * *

I've always wanted to write a story in which the characters are living in the past and WW2 is, while being and having been used several times already, the one I know the most about. I hope you will enjoy this fanfiction, because I plan on making it as long as possible.

Thanks to SilentEyedKat for beta-reading this.


	2. Cold and lost in desperation

It was only two minutes later, as the loud sound of air raid sirens wailing broke the silence. A loud crying dragging them roughly out of their thoughts, the world which had been standing still suddenly beginning to turn again. Gregory heard the sound of people running out of their houses, trying to see whether the alarm was a test or if they already were attacked.

Gregory and Mycroft probably were one of the only people not even moving an inch. Mycroft lay in his arms as he inhaled air sharply, the sound of his breaths being muted by the incredibly loud sirens. Only two minutes after the war had been declined, at 11:27 AM, loud yells and screams reached Gregory's ears.

He stood up, feeling numb and shocked, his body getting cold and hot within seconds without any sign. He heard his own heartbeat, almost as audible as the sirens and the commands being shouted by men out on the streets. Wetting his lips, feeling the sour and bitter taste of alcohol suddenly stronger than before, the DI stopped in front of the window, looking out.

From their flat, they had a normally nice view on the Hyde Park Barracks in Knightsbridge, the Hyde Park only slightly visible. He could even see the Buckingham Palace, its beauty completely ridiculous now in this moment. There it stood, strong and big, the perfect target for bombs and jets the Germans would send soon. A shiver ran down his spine, but was ignored rather quickly.

The Barracks always have been an eyesore, its presence here ruining the park. But in this moment, on the stretch of green turf by the Barracks, with the row of steam shovels biting out mouthfuls of earth, it never had been this shocking to see. People were hoisting the earth aloft, dumping it into lorries to be filled into sandbags there to protect the important buildings - why the Barracks were considered as one was an enigma to Gregory.

Soldiers were walking amongst the people who desperately were clinging onto their sanity. No one cried, eyes puffy, cheeks wet, but out there with the sirens breaking the silence, no one dared to appear weak.

An arm was wrapped around Gregory's waist and he leant against his lover, relieved to see he had gained back his control. He wasn't used to see so many emotions in Mycroft's face, especially if they were of a bad origin, sadness, anger, pain or fear; Mycroft hid them to the point where he couldn't tell when he felt them anymore.

"London prepares for war", Mycroft commented on the view of soldiers giving each civilian gas masks, muttering instructions of how to use them, "Soon, they will start to turn out every electricity in the night to herder the people out of the city."

Gregory turned his head towards Mycroft, narrowing his eyebrows. But didn't seem to notice it, continuing to talk about the plans and coming events as if he was reading out a file aloud. Eyes fixed on the people outside, but glance unfocused, being too deep in his thoughts to be aware of his surroundings anymore.

His mind palace, probably, or just the attempt to stay strong for Gregory. Either way, it didn't work and as the first civilians put on their gasmasks, some walking around with cardboard cartons in which they kept the masks, Mycroft bit his lower lip for an instance. Long enough for Gregory to notice that something was wrong.

Mycroft never has been one to show his emotions, preferring to keep them hidden in order to make decisions on a logical basis. But those little displays betrayed him - when he was angry, he would purse his lips briefly, when he was scared, he would bite his lip. All those little things no one would notice, Gregory had memorised them all.

While they had helped him to survive living in here together with an extraordinary man like Mycroft, it now had found a new use. One of which Gregory would have never thought about, yet here he stood, turning Mycroft and pressing his lips upon his lover's in the middle of a sentence.

"- to the evacuation trains", Mycroft ended, blinking in surprise at the sudden contact, the corners of his lips curling up a bit to reveal that he was suppressing a smile.

Gregory smiled at him, trying to bring back a little bit of normally in this chaos. It was the attempt of a desperate man to keep everything like it was. With a bit of luck, the policemen had to stay in their position which would save him from getting called to the front. Mycroft, however, didn't have a position which officially protected him from getting chosen for the war.

His influence might have been strong, and maybe he even was pulling the strings of dozens of countries, all dancing under his command but always in the belief they were controlling themselves and were free - but in war, who could have known that the government was up to. Mycroft had an extraordinary mind, a mind worth the money he got paid for taking care of Britain's little problems.

A strategist. Someone who could be useful during the war, when tactics had to be made; whenever the Colonels and Captains couldn't make decisions on their own anymore. Unfortunately, someone who could be of use at the front.

So Gregory prayed to whoever was listening, prayed that Mycroft would be able to do his work from London's offices. That he would be able to stay here with Gregory, where the latter could make sure that the younger wouldn't be harmed. He had no one left except his lover, without him, he would be lost.

"London will be evacuated, right? Because the Germans would attack the capital first to make as much damage as possible."

Mycroft nodded, watching as a jeep with some soldiers whose gas masks slung neatly in knapsacks over their shoulders passed, the people jumping to the side as they headed to Whitehall. By the insignias on their shoulders, Gregory could tell they were admirals. This only had been a test, those sounds of sirens, yet they still made their loud, whining sounds, muting the screams and cries of the people on the street.

The sound of their phone ringing caught Gregory off-guard. He flinched, turning around and expecting anything, an enemy, a bomb having been thrown into their rooms. But there was nothing. Only their black phone standing on a tiny table next to the entrance door, the shrill sound painfully reminding Gregory of the sirens outside.

Mycroft hurried to get to it, picking the receiver up and pressing it to his ear.

It was either someone from Mycroft's work or from the Yard. None of them had any relatives which would bother to call. Sherlock and John were both in America, safe and far away from the events in Europe. As long as the Germans wouldn't decide to try their luck by fighting against the United States, they were safe. John sometimes wrote letters, but recently, none came through anymore.

Gregory had his brother, but the younger was a soldier and about to be sent to Germany. His other brother, three years his senior, didn't talk to the two younger anymore. His children were with their mother, Gregory's ex-wife, somewhere in the country; out of Gregory's reach. He didn't have their number and his wife had erased his out of her address book the moment after the divorce, the money he had to pay her for the children was always sent to an address he didn't know nor could find.

They were on their own.

Gregory didn't mind the fact, however. He enjoyed being alone with Mycroft, it meant they could be who they were, not having to hide their love. Now and then, Mycroft had to invite his assistant to keep up the cover of being in a relationship with her. She knew the true nature of their relationship, but still, Gregory never had the courage to show his affection when she was around.

It gave her power he didn't like someone having. Would Mycroft have to fire her because of any reason, then she would have enough material and information to blackmail and ruin them. It was a risk both were ready to take, for the sake of their relationship, but while Mycroft seemed to not even consider this, Gregory constantly worried. He had never liked the assistant whose real name he didn't even know, Mycroft never told him.

Maybe it was paranoia, maybe Gregory felt something Mycroft didn't. This was highly unlikely since Mycroft always noticed everything days or hours before Gregory did, but still. He never let his guard down when he was in company of someone else with Mycroft. Not even shy brushes, everyone was paying attention to those signs which would identify a 'faggot'.

Mycroft had been silent the whole time, listening to whoever was speaking at the other line. Gregory watched as he took a piece of paper to write down a number in his perfect, elegant handwriting, even with his hand shaking slightly. Regardless of how much he tried to hide it, Gregory knew him far too well to not notice such things.

It was concern and worry, maybe about Britain, maybe about Gregory or his brother. But if Mycroft Holmes worried about something strongly enough to slightly loose the control he had over his body, then it definitely was something bad.

Mycroft hung up quickly, fingers moving over the dial plate. He put his finger in the corresponding finger-hole and rotated the dial clockwise, faster than usually as if he was in a hurry. Gregory turned his head towards the streets again, seeing a woman breaking down as she realised the situation. Children were tugging at their parents' clothes, asking what 'War' was and why those noises were so loud. Gregory felt glad for a moment he wouldn't have to explain the situation to his children.

The sound of the dial being returned to the resting position by a spring caught his attention, the pattern repeating several times until he could hear Mycroft's quiet voice, speaking to a person without saying the name out aloud.

"Balloons might be a very obvious decision, sir", Mycroft said quietly, and Gregory was able to feel the other's glance upon his back, "A balloon barrage could be considered as a threat and it might be better to not use them yet. As far as we know, they might prove to be mildly effective against the V-1 flying bombs the Germans might use…"

Gregory took his coat and put it on, quickly pressing a kiss on Mycroft's lips as the other wasn't talking. He quickly left, trying to ignore the amount of people out on the streets as he headed to Scotland Yard. He knew better than trying to listen to the conversation Mycroft was having. It probably was about politics and about decisions which had to be made and while Gregory certainly was curious, he knew that - would it be important - Mycroft would tell him.

He always did, eventually, sometimes after hours of pleading and whining from Gregory's side.

Gregory pushed the door open, stunned by the sight. Normally, most of the officers never actually showed up. No one noticed since no one really paid attention and most cases were solved more than quickly - well, not since Sherlock had been 'forced' to leave London a few years ago anymore, but still quick enough. There mostly was no use for more than twenty officers to sit in the office all day.

Right now, everyone was there. Donovan, Anderson (whatever he was doing here in the office), the other Detective Inspectors. Gregory wasn't able to find anyone who wasn't here, sitting behind their desks with phones ringing every second would they hang up the conversation they recently had.

"Scrap at Richmond Park!"

An officer took his cap and hurried away, someone else taking his place to get the information about the newest crimes being committed in this insanity. Gregory walked to his own, private, office and heavily sat down, rubbing his face.

There was a knock before one of the Detective Inspectors entered, his eyes read and puffy, hand clutched to fists.

"'Yer know, people go nuts ou' there", the other said, sitting down on the edge of Gregory's desk and handing him a cup of coffee which the other happily accepted, "I mean, we're at war, yes, but that doesn't mean I can go on the streets and play psychopathic idjit."

Gregory chuckled dryly, lifting his cup to toast to the Irish man. "As if we won't have enough to do now with the war."

The other nodded, sighing and standing up again. "'Yer just have to wait for a bomb, then they'll be silent."

He went out, leaving Gregory alone with his thoughts and his fear. A bomb would be the worst thing which could happen. They had balloons against attacks from above, they had soldiers in London to defeat the city should they try to attack, Britain owned enough ships in case of a war on the ocean. But against bombs, nothing could help. Not even those ridiculous sandbags now covering the streets, the eye quickly about to get used to it. Getting accustomed to the sight.

For a moment, he allowed his posture to sink down, burying his face in his hands as if to hide from the world. Even hours later, as it already became dark, he still sat there between each phone call, trying not to break down due to his desperation.

**xxxxXXXXxxxx  
**

Gregory was welcomed home by the sound of Mycroft's voice, perfectly cold, calm, smooth. Every word leaving his mouth a perfect example of politeness no one would be able to use this naturally as the DI's lover. So he still was talking, working at… Gregory turned his head towards the clock on the wall, narrowing his eyebrows. Mycroft still was working at nine pm.

He silently walked into the living room, having taken off his shoes to be as silent as possible and to enjoy the feeling of the rug beneath his feet. Mycroft sat on the desk they had inside the room, surrounded by papers and files Gregory would never get to know the content of. He just sat there, talking, listening, working hardly even though it was obvious that he was tired.

This was a routine between them. Mycroft overworked almost on a daily basis, and Gregory would come back home, having to literally drag him into bed every evening. Sometimes, Mycroft ignored him. He would continue to work, for hour after hour until midnight, when Gregory always told him that he would destroy the phone. This threat always worked.

Right now, he didn't dare, however. The situation was delicate, a war, Mycroft certainly was busy and had to plan everything to keep Britain safe. He just sat down in front of Mycroft on the ground, reaching out to take the almost empty bottle of alcohol to down it in one try. Gregory sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to not listen to the words Mycroft was saying.

If he was honest, half were words he didn't know the meaning of. Operation names, titles of planes and balloons, all those things Mycroft didn't have to be specialised in and yet he was. Precautions, he had explained it to Gregory as he once had been reading a catalogue with guns and rifles in it, if it might become necessary to know such things.

Little did they know that it indeed had become essential and vital.

Mycroft finally hung up as Gregory had opened the second bottle, not even trying to safe the beverage for later. It was one of Mycroft's favourite wines, an expensive one of rich, red colour, being drunken by Gregory like cheap scotch out of the bottle. The politician didn't seem to care though.

His head fell on the desk with a silent sound, a sigh leaving his mouth. No explanation was needed, Gregory stood up and went behind him, lowering his hands to massage his lover.

"That bad? ", Gregory asked quietly and pressed a kiss on Mycroft's head.

"We have candles in here, right? If not, we need to buy some. "

"Why? "

As Mycroft opened his mouth to answer, all lights went out. From where he was standing, Gregory could see several cars stopping on the streets, lights going out as well. London was surrounded by entire darkness, no television on - their neighbour's television was silenced just as the heroine was saved by the hero - nor radios nor lights in general.

Gregory hurried to the closet, quickly taking out one of their candles to light it up. In the shine of the flame, he could see dark circles under Mycroft's eyes and sighed, reaching out to take his lover's hand.

"Let's go, you are tired. "

Mycroft followed without protesting, letting himself be pulled into their bed like a puppet, barely breathing and immediately fading out as soon as Gregory wrapped his arms around him. The Detective Inspector sighed, burying his face in Mycroft's hair as he slowly doze off, his dreams accompanied by the sound of bullets shooting through the air and the scream of a man who was hit…

* * *

I am looking for a new beta-reader since my last - SilentEyedKat - doesn't answer to my emails anymore.

Anyone who'd be interested, please just contact me through a PM.


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